Ode, To Drunken Sex
by pleaseallowme
Summary: House and Wilson wake up after a night of forgotten, drunken sex. Turns out, their both semi ok with it. There will be very naughty sex in upcoming chapters. NOTE, Every other chapter will be mostly dialogue. So far it's a Six Parter. HouseWilson.
1. What The Hell?

House awoke that morning with a pain shooting up and down his leg. It wasn't new, it wasn't unexpected, it was just there, like always, ready and willing to greet him in the morning whether he liked it or not. This morning though, he was the owner of a horrible hangover to make things that much worse. As per usual he attempted to roll to his side to grab the Vicodin off the side table, this morning though, something was preventing him from doing so. He did not attempt to roll to his other side to see what it was; he only knew that the bed sheets had caught on something, or more likely, _under_ _someone._

He'd been way to drunk last night to remember exactly what happened. He might have made a few calls to secure that a hooker was on her way over, or he may have picked up an equally intoxicated woman at the bar. Both considerations were hardly anything to look forward too. If it were indeed a hooker sharing the bed with him, he'd have to shell out at least a hundred dollars for a night he'd never remember. And if it was a woman nursing a hangover such as him, she would either be infuriated that he took such advantage, or she would be in _cuddle _mode with her new found love interest. Neither prospect pleased him.

After a ten minute debate with himself, House decided it was best to get it over with now, so he could boot whomever it was out, and would be able to get at least another couple hours of sleep before he had to be at work. He altered his position on the bed and squinted hard to see if he could make out the person lying next to him. The unknown figure had dark hair, and was tall, maybe even as tall as him, if not only a few inches shorter. House rested his head on his arm in frustration. He wasn't going to let this woman lay there all morning, she had to leave now. He nudged her shoulder a bit, nothing. He drove a finger softly into her back, nothing. Not until he started to poke and prod a little harder, did the figure turn over.

It was at that moment that House, for the first time in ages, didn't know what to say, or do, for that matter. It was no hooker, no half -drunken woman, it was no woman at all. The mysterious person was, note, a very naked James Wilson. _How the hell had this happened? _He was now regretting taking Wilson to that bar. He was regretting drinking so much, suggesting to Wilson that they could share a cab, and most off, he was regretting allowing Wilson to spend the night. It was all an immense blur, but he was sure that's how they got to be where they were. House didn't regret their actions for his own sake. Fuck, he would have done this a long time ago if Wilson had shown any true indication of being interested, but as far as House could tell, he hadn't. He regretted it _because _of Wilson. If only there was someway to tell if they had in fact…done _it. _As far as pain, or any other feeling _down _there was concerned, he didn't feel any. His brain was to busy trying to fight the constant pain from his leg.

House recalled a young man coming into the clinic not so long ago, claiming to have extensive 'backside' pain when he sat down. It wasn't a very pleasant thing to think about, considering House had to thoroughly check out the man. He was recalling this memory of course, because he had to check for himself. He had to know if anything went on between them besides drunkenly falling asleep naked with each other. Which, for Wilson's sake, he'd hoped was all that happened.

House quietly slid out from under the blankets and grabbed his cane while Wilson mumbled something in his sleep. Although he knew Wilson was in the most rooted sleep anyone could ever possibly be in, he was still a tad embarrassed as he walked out of the room naked. The bathroom was the most logical place to do such a 'test', so he slowly walked in and locked the door behind him. He silently _did his thing _before coming to the conclusion. He'd never in a million years dreamed that he'd be locked in his own bathroom performing his own anal exam, but he had to laugh at this. Wilson…had fucked him, and he was relatively sure he had returned the favor.

He finished up in the bathroom and decided to throw on some clothes, take a Vicodin, the couch, and let Wilson sleep off whatever he'd consumed the night before. The hard wood creaked so damn loudly that House made a face to himself as he walked across the bedroom floor. He was gathering a pair of pajama pants out of a drawer when he heard a rustle of sheets, and then a quiet but analytical, "what the hell?"


	2. Why Do I feel like I fell down stairs?

Oh, _shit, _House had frozen immediately, gripping his cane with his right hand, and with his left, clenching the pajama bottoms for dear life. Wilson too, was immobile as he supported his head weakly with his shoulder; it was uncomfortable but he was too disturbed to move. House didn't know what he could possibly say to him to allot him with any sort of comfort, that was never his strong suit, so he figured he would just get dressed and walk out like nothing had happened. He pulled out the pants from the drawer and brainlessly attempted to put them on while standing, and still clutching his cane. In one abrupt motion, the cane collapsed to the floor, sending out a loud _thump _circling the room.

"House, is that you?" Wilson finally propped himself up into a sitting position. He could see House almost too clearly, bending down to retrieve his cane, still naked, and unable to look at his _friend._

"Yeah. Just getting some pants."

"Why are you naked? Why am I naked? And why do I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs?" The words he used were general, but he sounded panicked.

House could have very easily deflated the situation with a joke, a witty joke, with loads of perversion and sexual insinuations. If it had been anyone else, he would have. However, this was _Wilson. _House knew that Wilson would be anxious and completely uncomfortable. If he were to mess about with him, now would certainly not be the time. Accordingly, he opted just to come out with it, and tell him what happened. If Wilson took the news as light-heartedly as House would have liked, he'd then proceed into his encyclopedia of wise-cracks.

"Did I fall down a flight of stairs?" Wilson asked wide-eyed.

"No." House attempted to turn around as he pulled on the pajamas, although, Wilson hadn't seemed to distraught at the sight of him being naked.

"I'm naked." Wilson pointed out.

"I know."

"Why am I naked House? And what the hell really went on here?"

"I'm assuming your naked because you felt constricted in your clothing. That's why I'm naked anyway. And I don't think you want to know."

"Tell me." He held his head while he shouted at House. Wilson was angry now, that was certain, but his throbbing _morning after _migraine was making it almost impossible for him to scream any louder then he already was.

"Your always telling me we never do anything different." House took a seat near the edge of the bed.

"Oh my God, that's what I'm feeling right now?! Oh God."

"Relax, we were drunk."

"Why the hell are you so ok with this? For Christ fucking sakes, this should not have happened."

"This won't change anything."

"Of course it will. You can't tell me that you won't feel even a little awkward hanging out now."

"Not really."

"Fuck off House."

"It wasn't my fault. Don't get angry at me. You were just as drunk as I was."

"I've got to get out of here."

"Fine, run away like a wimpy little boy."

"This isn't like you stole my ball at recess House! I'll never be able to live with myself now."

"Stop being an idiot. Just forget it ever happened."

"I can't." Wilson's voice was much softer now, as he climbed out of the bed and wrapped the sheets around him.

"I'm sorry." House backed away from Wilson, assuming the closeness would elevate his awkwardness to a ten.

They stood for a few minutes staring at each other, Wilson trying desperately to keep himself covered by the thin white sheet. House didn't dare break eye contact with him; he knew he had a calming effect on Wilson. Holding his gaze seemed to be the only thing that really made Wilson serene. It was an odd thing to him, but whenever Wilson was having a tough time at work, or a tough time with a girlfriend or wife, all House had to do was look at him for a few moments and he could see the wave of ease engulf Wilson's body. It gratified House that he was able to do that for him.

"Like you said, it wasn't your fault. If anything I probably put the moves on you." Wilson phrased right out of the blue.

House had to smirk at that, because it was highly unlikely that Wilson would have _wanted _it more than him, unless…

"Why would you say that?" There was hopefulness in House's voice that couldn't be missed.

"Do we have to get into this now?"

"It's a good a time as any, Jimmy."

"_Jimmy." _Wilson whispered back to himself. He loved when House called him that.

"Yes, your name is Jimmy. So tell me, Jimmy, what makes you think I didn't put the moves on you?"

"I don't know. I just doubt your ability to sufficiently, _hit on_ a man."

"And your so well versed it the art of pursuing men."

"…"

"Wilson!"

Wilson's face was turning red. He could feel the heat penetrating his cheeks and he thanked God at that moment for the darkness in the room. He'd never officially slept with a man, _until now. _He had gone as far as kissing a man, and doing some over the clothes touching, but could never bring himself to actually do anything more. Wilson faced the facts a while ago; he was saving his homosexual virginity for House. He figured that would never happen unless they were drunk. There was a good chance he had been all over him last night. The only reason he was so angry was because he didn't want to lose House. _Greg House and James Wilson_; it's supposed to be like that forever.


End file.
